


The Tattoo

by Gumnut



Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Angst, Brothers, Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:41:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27653590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gumnut/pseuds/Gumnut
Summary: Virgil takes a tumble and accidentally reveals something he has been hiding from his family for a long time.
Comments: 37
Kudos: 59





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vegetacide](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vegetacide/gifts).



> Title: The Tattoo
> 
> Author: Gumnut
> 
> Oct – Nov 2020
> 
> Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015
> 
> Rating: Teen
> 
> Summary: Virgil takes a tumble and accidentally reveals something he has been hiding from his family for a long time.
> 
> Word count: 15,000+
> 
> Spoilers & warnings: whump, angst, language, reference to non-graphic self harm, spoilers for end of season three.
> 
> Author's note: For @vegetacide because she inspired it. Many thanks to @vegetacide, @scribbles97 and @i-am-chidoriXblossom for the read throughs and support.
> 
> Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

“Fuck!”

Virgil closed his eyes and tried not to puke.

Even without sight, he could sense the hangar spinning around him. He had to swallow repeatedly as his left arm and shoulder, tangled above him, screamed.

His head spun in the opposite direction to the hangar and he had to swallow again.

But he had to open his eyes.

Had to.

So, he did.

The rock walls rotated slowly past him. So familiar, just not from this angle.

Ow.

Ow.

Shit.

The air was cool over the heat in his skin. He looked down. It was a mistake and he had to force his stomach under control again as the concrete floor and his toolkit, so far below, danced in and out of focus.

It was his safety line that had saved him from joining his tools.

He let out a pain-filled breath.

It was a bat. A damned bat that must have found Two’s tail plane a convenient place to roost overnight, but had objected to Virgil’s intrusion. It had flown at him in a panic. He hadn’t expected it, had reacted badly, took a misstep, and over he went.

The world still lazily rotated past.

Carefully, he looked up at his arm, almost afraid to see what he would find. He could guess by the amount of pain he was in, but confirmation was going to suck.

Backlit by the overhead light shaft and the red of Two’s rear thrusters, the safety line was looped around his wrist, cutting the circulation off to his hand. Every joint in the limb all the way down to his shoulder was screaming.

Because it wasn’t the carbine at his waist that had taken his sudden wrenching halt mid-air, it was his arm.

He let out a groan. There was no doubt that he had likely dislocated his shoulder again. The pain was far too familiar for it to be anything else.

He let another moment pass before gathering himself. He couldn’t stay here. The thought of his brothers finding him like this was embarrassing. Gordon was never going to let it go.

So bats weren’t one of his favourite animals. Sure, they could be considered cute, in a snarly kind of way, but Virgil had never liked their smell or their ability to scare the living crap out of him.

Just like this.

Gordon was going to laugh his ass off.

Falling off his own Thunderbird because of a stupid bat.

The world continued its lazy spin.

He forced himself to focus. He could retract the safety line. This would pull him back up to Two and he should be able to clamber onto her fuselage and make it back to her overhead hatch.

But first he had to untangle his arm.

This was going to hurt.

He wasn’t wearing his uniform, something he was regretting right now. If he had, the tough material would have protected his arm much better than the flannel caught in his maintenance harness. His uniform had extra padding for a reason.

So, preferring his more comfortable casual clothes had earned him this. Not only was it a stupid accident, but at least a partly preventable one.

He swore through his teeth.

All his own damned fault.

Scott would have his hide, and Dad… shit , Dad.

His life may not be worth living.

He eyed the line above his caught arm. His wrist was wrapped in a simple loop. All he had to do was take some of his weight off the line so the loop could be widened and his hand could slip through.

His throbbing hand, attached to his dislocated arm that was pure agony to move.

He bit his lip.

He’d had worse.

He could do this.

He could.

He drew in a deep breath.

It hissed between his teeth.

Focus.

He grabbed the line he could reach with his right hand, and using every abdominal muscle he had, he flipped his body upside down, tangling his feet in the rope to take his weight.

The spinning rock walls echoed back his cry.

He hung there, boots looped in the line and willed everything to stop screaming. He ran his brothers’ locations through his head like a mantra of reassurance that they hadn’t heard him.

Scott was with Dad in his office. Alan was with John on Five. Gordon…Gordon was probably in the pool…though he did have that video conference this afternoon. Maybe he was in his office preparing?

Who was he kidding?

Kayo was in England with Penelope.

Brains was in his lab.

Grandma…

Grandma was gardening. Gardening.

His breath was harsh in his ears.

Get his wrist out of the loop, get back aboard his ‘bird…and work out what the hell he was going to do from there.

The loop came off deceptively easily and he was able to use his right arm to gently fold his left against his chest and secure it with his shirt.

The paramedic in him that wasn’t strangled by pain eyed the wrist under his controller with trepidation. He’d done a proper job of it. There wouldn’t be any piano for a few weeks.

If he had been wearing his uniform, his reinforced glove would have taken most of the punishment.

He groaned as he fumbled with his shirt buttons, trying to keep his limp arm still as gravity toyed with it.

The moment he had it secured, he lowered himself slowly and flipped back the right way up, letting the carbine do the job it was designed for and take his weight.

A shaky sigh and he hit the retrieval button.

The safety line retracted and drew him up to his ‘bird, her cool, green fuselage calming against his forehead.

God.

It took some struggle and not a little bit of pain to clamber back onto Two. Once he made it, he took a minute or ten and just lay there panting and squeezing the moisture from his eyes.

This wasn’t his first shoulder dislocation. Working as he did, there had been several prior incidents. It was one of the reasons he carried the exosuit with him wherever he went. It protected him.

Just like his uniform.

God, he was a moron.

He deserved to get his ass kicked.

But first he needed to assess the damage and work out whether he could get away with it or have to serve himself up for the lecture of the century, likely in triplicate.

He pushed himself up off her green hull and got his feet under him. The world managed to stay steady and his arm settled into the Bonaparte temporary sling. He tugged the safety line along its rail the length of his ‘bird and clambered up over the body of her cockpit until he reached the overhead hatch. It was with some relief he slid his feet onto the elevated platform and was able to finally disengage the blessed safety line.

He staggered a little as he was lowered into familiar surroundings, but he stabilised himself, made it to one of the overhead lockers and dragged out a handheld scanner.

A flicker of yellow light and he found out exactly what he had done to himself.

Definitely dislocated, that wasn’t really news, but his wrist and elbow…

His elbow was strained, but intact. His wrist, however, was already swelling echoing both the extensive bruising and the fracture.

Damn.

All for a stupid accident.

He stared at the wall and focussed on his breathing. He wouldn’t be able to hide this.

His working shoulder dropped and his injured one tried to do the same.

Ow.

There wasn’t enough profanity in his vocabulary.

And there was no choice. He was going to have to face the music.

Scott was with Dad.

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Maybe he could wait. Wait until Scott was alone, corner his brother and beg him to keep the specifics of how he had injured himself confidential. Keep it from the younger two at least and maybe even Dad.

Virgil knew how stupid he had been, he didn’t need to be reminded for the rest of his life.

The world shifted a little and he realised he was lightheaded. He really shouldn’t be on his feet.

He would go back to his rooms, message Scott to contact him when he was finished with Dad, and lie down.

As if to emphasize this last, the world wobbled again.

Rooms.

Message Scott.

Painkiller.

Bed.

He stepped back onto the hatch and lowered it. Steadying himself he made his way to the elevator. It wasn’t until he was hidden by its silver doors that he realised he would have to remove his arm from its makeshift sling otherwise one glance by any family member and he was doomed.

Gritting his teeth, he released the limb and lowered it with a groan until it hung. The level of pain doubled. Every movement was accompanied by white flashes and a stomach clenching nausea, but he only had a short corridor between the elevator and his rooms.

He could do this.

He could do it.

The elevator car slid to a smooth halt and chimed his floor.

Virgil stepped out and almost collided with Gordon running down the corridor.

A sucked in breath as he narrowly avoided his brother.

Gordon halted and smiled happily at him. “Oh, hey, Virg.” The smile turned into a frown. “I thought you were down in the hangars polishing your ‘bird?”

Virgil struggled to keep a calm façade as the world wobbled around him.

“Gordon…”

“What?” His younger brother frowned even more staring at Virgil. “You okay? You’re looking peaked.” Gordon had somehow managed to stand exactly where Virgil wanted to go.

“What do you want, Gordon?”

His brother was still staring at him, brown eyes suspicious as all hell. “Have you had your coffee this morning?”

Virgil opened his mouth, but another voice interrupted before he could say a word.

“Gordon Cooper Tracy!” Grandma’s voice echoed down the hall. “If you think I’m cleaning up that mess you left in the kitchen, you are dreaming, young man!” And his purple-dressed, eagle-eyed, medically qualified grandmother strode onto the scene.

Well, hell. Today was just not his day.

“Grandma, I was just getting my shoes.”

“Really?” The cocked hip and arms crossed across her chest screamed disbelief.

“Really. My new ones were rubbing.” Gordon held up a foot.

When did Gordon buy bright pink shoes?

“You can clean up your mess in bare feet. You left syrup all over the counter.” Grandma glanced at Virgil only to suddenly narrow her gaze. “Good morning, Virgil.”

“Hey, Grandma.” He tried not to faint.

It was his grandmother’s turn to frown at him. “Are you feeling okay, dear?” She took a step closer and Virgil forced himself to straighten.

He swallowed. Could he lie to his grandmother’s face?

“He’s good, Grandma. Just hasn’t had his coffee refill yet, have you, Virg?”

Virgil would have appreciated Gordon’s brotherly deflection gesture, after all, they needed a united defence against Grandma’s traditional cures for anything and everything, but unfortunately, Gordon followed his words up with a whack to Virgil’s arm.

His dislocated arm.

And everything whited out.

-o-o-o-

End Part One


	2. Chapter 2

“Virgil!”

There were two voices and he knew both of them, but he was barely keeping his feet. His good shoulder hit what had to be the elevator doors and someone grabbed at him to stop him from falling.

Unfortunately, they grabbed the wrong arm.

“Don’t!” He desperately stumbled away, stepping back into the elevator and curling up in one of the corners.

God.

His breathing was harsh and loud in his ears.

His stomach rolled over and he found himself swallowing yet again.

Pull it together…

Another breath…

Opening his eyes and peering up revealed exactly what he expected. IR responder Gordon Tracy inspecting him with laser beam eyes and Dr Sally Tracy frowning enough to crush him with her eyebrows.

“Virgil? What’s wrong?” It was said by his grandmother but the expression on Gordon’s face was punctuation.

There was no getting out of this.

Another swallow.

He uncurled and straightened as two pairs of concerned eyes tracked his every move.

“I had a bit of an accident.”

“Well, that much is obvious.” Gordon was not impressed.

Grandma reached out and touched his little brother’s arm. “Virgil, what happened? You are obviously seriously injured.”

“I fell and dislocated my shoulder.” His eyes were held by his grandmother.

“And?” Gordon knew him too damn well.

“Broken wrist.”

Grandma stepped forward, grabbing Gordon and taking him with her. It removed the both of them from the elevator door sensors and she turned to hit the controls.

The infirmary level lit up.

Virgil would have wilted, but it would have hurt too much.

Grandma didn’t say anything the entire trip down. Admittedly, it wasn’t a long trip, only a matter of seconds, but it took forever.

He was in so much shit.

The doors opened again and his grandmother stepped back, gesturing he exit the car.

He really wished she would say something.

But she didn’t, so he levered himself off the elevator wall and took the steps needed to get himself to the infirmary. His arm dangled and screamed at him the entire way. By the time he reached a bed he had to grip it to prevent himself from falling flat on his face.

“C’mon, Virg, let’s get you up there.” Gordon carefully lowered the bed and guided him onto it. His butt hit the mattress and he was hard put to stay upright, but he had to. He had to look his grandmother in the eye and answer for his own stupidity.

“Lie down, Virgil.” Responder Gordon was firm, but not firm enough.

“Grandma?”

There must have been something in his voice because her whole body language changed. It softened and she reached out, her hand brushing the side of his good arm. “Honey, lie down.”

It helped more than any demand could have.

He wasn’t forgiven, but he was loved.

-o-o-o-

Yes, Sally Tracy loved her boys more than life itself, but there were times they baffled her beyond comprehension.

Virgil was her sensible boy. She could trust him to keep a calm head and corral his brothers if necessary. She felt just that touch closer to Virgil, more a case of mutual understanding, than she had with her other boys, including her son. But every now and then even Virgil proved exactly how Tracy he was.

How much of an idiot.

“Honey, lie down.” It was obvious he was in a lot of pain and her heart hurt for him. Why he hadn’t called for help? She had no idea any more than she did the time she found Scott trying to stitch himself up. Or the time she discovered John melting away quietly in his room so feverish she was surprised he hadn’t lit it on fire. Gordon was a little more sensible, likely due to his medical history, but there was the incident with the clam. As for Alan, she just ticked all the boxes above as the teenager was notorious for following his brothers off their respective cliffs and laughing while jumping.

But Virgil, her sweet Virgil…it was almost a betrayal of her trust in him. The surety that he would act in his and his brothers’ best interests.

Why hadn’t he reported the injury?

How did he get hurt?

She raised the head of the bed and gently nudged him to relax against it. Her hand landed on his chest and she could feel the tension in his body through the flannel of his shirt.

Part of her, deep down, hidden under the professional and the grandmother, wanted to cry at the pain in those tight muscles.

But instead she began undoing buttons.

His eyes followed her every movement, his healthy hand reaching up to help.

“Gordon, find me a laser scalpel. I’m going to have to cut his shirt off.”

Virgil’s expression wilted. Well, there was no choice. He would just have to buy a new one.

She moved further down and unbuckled the safety harness. He must have been working on his ‘bird.

She brushed away his hand as he again tried to help her. “Rest, Virgil. I’ve got this.”

His expression immediately tightened up and she realised he was embarrassed.

“There is nothing to be embarrassed about, my boy. You haven’t got anything I haven’t seen before.”

“Grandma…”

A tug and she was able to pull the harness loose. She handed it to Gordon who stashed it on a chair before handing her the laser scalpel.

“Now, honey, you are going to tell me exactly what happened so I know how to treat you.”

His eyes immediately darted to Gordon and with some concern she realised there was fear in his gaze.

What on Earth had happened? What was he afraid of?

Gordon’s expression grew quizzical.

Virgil looked like he was facing a firing squad.

She got an inkling of Virgil’s reasoning. Perhaps his embarrassment had a more solid foundation.

“Gordon, could you please wait outside?”

The aquanaut jumped, his eyes darting at her. “Grandma?”

“Go and notify your father and Scott about this while I speak to Virgil.”

Carnelian eyes darted back and forth between brother and grandmother and she could tell he was reluctant to leave. Her bet was it was concern about his brother, but also an insatiable curiosity as to what had happened.

She could understand that.

“Please, Gordon.”

That did it. Gordon grabbed at Virgil’s leg and squeezed gently. “Okay, Grandma.” But his eyes pinned his brother where he sat. There was no doubt Gordon was going to find out what happened come hell or high water. And then he would probably instigate both considering how much fear was in Virgil’s eyes.

The moment the aquanaut left the room, she turned back to Virgil. “Honey, tell me what happened?”

-o-o-o-

End Part Two.


	3. Chapter 3

Scott Tracy loved his father with every molecule of his being.

But Dad had been away a long time and their family dynamics had evolved in his absence. They were all fully grown, adults in their own right. They had responsibilities and had been making their own choices for eight long years.

That was not going to change.

“Dad, I know this is important to you, but if Alan doesn’t want to go to college, he has the right.”

His father was pacing his office, back and forth, cane tapping on the hardwood floor.

It was one of two rooms that had been held in trust for eight years. Other than the necessary requirements to do his job, Scott had refused to touch anything. Virgil had come in here sometimes to think, John to locate specific information, but he had never seen Gordon in here and that one time he had discovered Alan crying…well, that was a memory he did not want to dwell on.

“A good education is a pillar of a good life.” The cane hit the hardwood with a thump. “I’ve wanted all you boys to get the right start.”

“Alan is a certified astronaut and pilot, Dad. Has been for nearly four years. That is all he has ever wanted to do. We have the monetary security. None of us will ever have to work to survive. Besides, if he wants further education, he can pick it up anytime.”

His father’s shoulders dropped. “I respect that, Scott, but it just doesn’t feel right. Even Gordon has qualifications.”

Scott’s lips thinned at the ‘even’. “Don’t underestimate Gordon.” It wasn’t intentional on his father’s part, but the man was a pilot to the core and his vision a little on the narrow side. Virgil had had a hell of a time persuading his father that art and music were valid career paths.

Of course, the purple hair and piercings had not helped. But Scott often wondered if his brother had chosen engineering to appease their father.

Gordon…Gordon had never helped himself. The yelling had been hell.

Dad held up a hand. “I’m not. This isn’t about Gordon. This is about Alan’s future.”

“No, kidding.” Scott’s patience was beginning to erode. “Dad, it is Alan’s choice.”

“I just want what is best for him.”

Scott stood up. “Alan is smart, Dad. He will make the right decision. For himself.”

Those grey eyes were still not convinced, but any further discussion was interrupted by a knock at the door.

Before either of them could speak, Gordon ducked his head in, eyes worried. “Scott, Virgil’s hurt. He’s in the infirmary with Grandma.”

Scott shot to his feet. “What? How?”

Their father shuffled forward and his foot caught on the edge of his desk.

A blink of realisation and Scott moved.

He grunted as he took the other man’s weight. Despite the emaciated condition of his frame, Jeff Tracy was not a small man.

Then Gordon was there and between them, they got their Dad’s feet under him.

The man grunted, displeased at his own frailty as always. No thanks were given but those worn hands gripped Scott’s just that moment longer and squeezed gently.

Voice rough. “What is Virgil’s status?”

Scott blinked at the familiar sound of his commander and Gordon straightened just that little more.

Scott, yet again, was confronted by the fact that their father had never been Gordon’s IR commander. Gordon had become an operative after their father had disappeared.

It was a fact that he knew, but he forgot and remembered in repeated painful moments.

But Gordon had been in WASP. He knew how to respond regardless.

“Dislocated shoulder, broken wrist. Grandma is attending to him now.”

“How the hell…?” The words fell from his mouth as he made for the door, still hovering around his father in case the stumble heralded any further instability.

Dad’s cane made stubborn thuds on the hardwood.

“Virgil refused to say. Well, with me in the room.” Gordon shrugged

Scott held the door. “I can agree with that.”

The glare he got for that was nasty.

“You’ve only got yourself to blame, bro. He will never forgive you for the road rash incident.”

“Aw, c’mon, it was his butt, Scott.” Gordon screwed up his face. “And I was only sixteen.”

“You were hell on Earth.”

“Someone had to laugh back then. You were all work and no play.”

Scott’s lips thinned. Gordon was right, but they had just lost Dad and the learning curve was of Everest proportions. The eldest three had had to adapt fast and, admittedly, the younger two often got the dud end of the deal.

“We did our best, Gordon.”

His brother sighed. “I know. Was just trying to help.”

“I get it.” He hit the elevator button. “But you’re going to be paying for that one probably for the rest of your life.”

Their father glanced at him as Scott ushered them into the elevator and the pain in those grey eyes cut him to the quick.

They were discussing incidents of which their father had no knowledge. The aftermath of his disappearance and the pain their family had experienced. It was something that reared its head regularly.

“I think I will need details regarding this one.” Those eyes swept both of them as the elevator dropped two levels.

“I think I’ll send Gordon off the Island and you and Virgil can discuss it at length.” It would be at length. Virg had some serious issues about those photographs of his backside. “I wouldn’t want either of you to accidentally murder Gordon in the aftermath.”

“It wasn’t that bad!”

“It wasn’t your butt or your injury, Gordon!”

The elevator opened across from the infirmary.

To Scott’s surprise Grandma was outside the doors.

And to his horror, she was crying.

-o-o-o-

End Part Three


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please ignore any and all plotholes as they sail past :D

Grandma turned tearstained eyes in his direction and her mouth opened as if she was going to say something, but before either of them could utter a word, the door to the infirmary slid aside.

Virgil, shirtless, slumped against the doorframe as if it was all that was holding him up. One arm was useless against his side and his complexion was as white as the paintwork on the walls. Voice hoarse and heart-breaking, he reached out his good arm. “Grandma?”

What to do was unspoken, but obvious. His father went to his mother’s aid. Scott went to Virgil’s, his arm sliding under his brother’s before he could fall on his face.

Virgil’s groan as his weight shifted to Scott, said everything.

He manoeuvred his protesting brother back into the infirmary and slid the door shut behind him, shutting off Gordon’s worried eyes.

“Talk to me, Virg.” He didn’t need to ask the questions. They were obvious.

Virgil slumped onto the bed, but didn’t lie down, his good arm holding him up. His voice was whisper hoarse. “Fell off Two. Dislocated shoulder, busted wrist.” He vaguely gestured in the direction of his limp limb. “Got caught in the safety line as I fell.”

Scott winced at the thought. Ow.

But Virgil didn’t give him time to comment. “Grandma and Gordon caught me on the way to my quarters. Was going to comm you, but I didn’t get there. Grandma was not impressed.” His brother’s worried eyes stared at the closed door. “She kicked Gords out so I could tell her what happened. Cut off my shirt…” Virgil swallowed and his eyes searched for Scott’s. “She saw the tattoo.”

Aw, hell.

As if summoned, their grandmother shoved the door aside and strode back into the room. There was enough fire in her eyes to light up anyone who stood in her way.

Her face was pale and her eyes red. Dad and Gordon edged in the door behind her, concern for both the matriarch and the wavering Virgil radiating off of them.

Grandma parked herself directly in front of the injured man. “Why?”

A weary exhale as Virgil faced her head on. “Because I have to.”

“No. No. No, you don’t.” Her hand waved it all away. “We contribute by saving lives.”

“They deserve to be remembered.” Virgil screwed his eyes shut in pain.

“Not like this.”

“Grandma…” But whatever Virgil was going to say was lost in another groan as he shifted on the bed and jarred his arm.

Scott’s response was immediate. “You know what? I don’t care. What I do care about is the fact is that Virgil is in pain. We can discuss this later.” He shot a look in his grandmother’s direction. “We need to set Virgil’s arm and splint his wrist.” Scott slid off the bed and steadied his brother with one hand while grabbing a scanner with the other.

Gordon moved to the opposite side of the bed, no doubt to provide support should his brother need it, but the moment he caught sight of Virgil’s back, his eyes widened. “Woah, Virg, what the hell have you done to yourself?”

Scott’s voice was tight. “Gordon…” But his father’s cane clacked on the floor as he made his way around the bed.

Grey eyes widened. “Virgil!”

His brother slumped where he sat only to whimper and tense up.

Virgil’s eyes glistened in the overhead lighting.

Scott’s anger flared. “This is not a goddamned sideshow!” He glared at his parents before turning back to his poor brother.

The scanner showed exactly what Virgil had reported - dislocated shoulder, broken wrist and a whole pile of strained and painful muscles.

Scott’s body ached in sympathy.

“Grandma, Virgil needs painkillers, a splint and his shoulder reset. Are you able, or should I?” It was harsh, but how long had Virgil been sitting here in pain?

“Scott!” His father’s voice was sharp.

But Grandma was moving and that was Scott’s intention, what was needed. She filled a hypodermic, every move tight with anger. Her eyes latched onto Virgil and she told him what drug she was using.

Virgil’s single nod was resigned and so sad, Scott’s heart lurched.

But the drug was administered. As Virgil slowly slid sideways, Scott caught him gently and held him close.

His fingers catching on scars.

-o-o-o-

The medication was more a muscle relaxant than an anaesthetic, but when combined with the necessary painkiller it had the effect it always had on Virgil and sent him to the edge of consciousness.

Grandma’s fingers were sure and nimble as she set Virgil’s wrist, wrapping it in a splint.

Virgil rested against Scott’s shoulder, his eyes closed. Scott would have thought he was asleep, but he knew his brother better than that. The flinch of pain and the frown when Grandma moved his wrist was proof enough.

The quiet breath of ‘sorry’, was even more.

Scott held him just that little tighter.

Dad had moved to the end of the bed, his eyes still tracking Virgil’s bare back. The anger and worry in that grey gaze spoke of long and anguished discussions in the near future.

Gordon wasn’t much better, but there was no anger, only worry in his brother’s eyes.

Grandma continued to glare, but her hands were sure and professional. The difference was, her anger obviously included Scott and not just Virgil.

He could acknowledge that this was on him. But he had done the best he could.

As had Virgil.

His brother protested, somewhat clinging to Scott, as they nudged him upright so Gordon and Grandma could relocate his shoulder.

“C’mon, Virg. One last thing and you will feel so much better and you can rest.”

The whimpered ‘no’ repeated, and Scott had to put some muscle into it. He got Virgil sitting upright and held him there.

Gordon clenched his jaw, took hold of the injured arm, and…

Virgil’s cry of pain was enough to bring tears to his fish brother’s eyes.

Scott supported Virgil as Grandma tested the shoulder joint for movement and scanned it thoroughly before strapping it up.

Her lips were ever so tight, but it was her blue eyes that hurt the most. They reflected the emotion he had seen in Virgil’s eyes all those years ago.

Despair.

So much despair.

Scott’s heart clenched, but then it steeled, his own lips thinning. As Virgil finally relaxed against his shoulder, all Scott felt was the need to protect the injured man from those eyes at the end of the bed.

Because Dad was still staring.

And frowning.

Grabbing at the bunched-up sheet on the bed, Scott untucked it and yanked it up and over Virgil’s injured shoulder, hiding him from prying eyes.

Virgil let out a sigh into Scott’s shirt and relaxed just that little more.

Dad’s eyes flashed.

Scott straightened where he sat. Not much, but just enough to get his message across.

“He needs rest.” Grandma’s voice was rough, her hand on Virgil’s knee.

“I’ll see to it.” Scott’s words were a dismissal and Grandma received the message loud and clear.

She swallowed. “We need to talk.”

Virgil stirred, but Scott held him tight, one hand combing fingers through his hair to calm him.

Scott caught his grandmother’s eyes. “We do, but not now.” He flicked his gaze to his father. “I’ve got this.”

Dad obviously didn’t like it, but his mother grabbed his arm. “Jefferson.” With a final glare at Scott, she dragged her son from the room.

That left Gordon.

“Scott? What happened?”

Fingers through soft hair. “It was a long time ago, Gordon.”

“But…”

“We’ll talk later.”

The faith in those brown eyes meant more than Scott could express.

Gordon gripped his shoulder a moment, glanced at Virgil with that worry in his eyes yet again, turned and left, shutting the door behind him.

The room was suddenly very empty.

The white walls accused him.

And Virgil sighed into his shirt.

-o-o-o-

It was quite some time later when Scott finally made it to the comms room. Virgil was always fragile under the influence of medication and it had taken some time to get him settled and to sleep.

There was dread for the coming conversation, but Scott Tracy was never one to back off from a confrontation and this was important.

So, when he did walk into the room, it was with his defences firmly in place and steel in his spine.

To find both Alan and John in the room with his father, grandmother and Gordon only increased his ire.

They had no right!

“How is Virgil?” Alan’s eyes were as worried, if not more, than those in the rest of the room. It mollified Scott just a little.

“Virgil is asleep.” He left it at that. Alan didn’t need to know about the repeated, barely coherent apologies or the fretting. To Alan and Gordon, and to a certain extent, John, Virgil was the strength of the family. The rock. The immovable. Almost indestructible. They didn’t need to know their older brother’s insecurities or his fears. Virgil had sworn Scott to secrecy for a damn good reason.

Scott had agreed with that reason.

“I want an explanation.” His father stood beside his desk, a spitting image of what Scott had dreamed of all these years, and now...

He straightened his shoulders. “It is Virgil’s private business.”

Grandma took a step closer. “I would think it is a matter of Virgil’s mental health.”

Scott turned to his grandmother. “It has been taken care of.”

“When? Why is this the first I’ve heard of it?”

“Some time ago, and because, as I said, it is Virgil’s business and no-one else’s.”

His father frowned. “He has death dates carved into his back!”

Scott didn’t miss Alan’s flinch and it only made him angrier. A step in his father’s direction. “And I have them carved into my memory. I don’t see your point.”

Stormy grey met his challenge. Carefully punctuated words. “There is a difference between remembering those we’ve lost, and vandalising your own body-“

“It has been taken care of.” The words were sharp and a warning.

“Obviously, it hasn’t. The last date was a month ago!”

That stilled the room a moment. But then Gordon spoke up. “Cass. You’re talking about Cass McCready.” The sadness in Gordon’s eyes tore at Scott’s heart.

“Yes. Cass.”

Grandma looked away as Scott’s three brothers wilted just a little.

It made his father’s question lonely. “Who?”

Scott stared at his Dad, but before he could open his mouth, John stepped into the conversation. “Chief Cass McCready with the London Metropolitan Fire Department. She and Virgil worked together on several rescues. They were friends. She was attending a building collapse. We were called in and Thunderbird Two was inbound.” He paused. “We were too late.”

Scott bit the inside of his cheek. He knew about it, of course. He’d ridden the grief with his brother late at night. There had been a time where Scott had thought that maybe Cass would be the one for his brother.

It was not to be.

And another date had been added to the tally.

Because tally it was. Virgil’s list of loss. All those he felt needed memorialised because he hadn’t been able to save them. Wrapped in art and elegance and the weave of history.

He swallowed. “I beg of you. Let this be.”

“How can you ask that?” His father’s expression could only be described as a mixture of worry and horror. “This is your brother. He is in pain.”

Scott flared. “Yes, he is. And he is managing it the best he can.”

“Scott-“

“NO!” He flung up his hands. “No, Dad. Leave it! It is under control-“

“He is my son!”

“And you weren’t here!”

The sudden silence in the room was profound. Scott was aware of his brothers’ eyes wide and staring at him, but it was the shocked grey eyes that pierced his heart.

He swallowed, voice rough. “I’m sorry, Dad. We did the best we could.”

-o-o-o-

End Part Four


	5. Chapter 5

Virgil hated medication. Hated it with a violent passion. It messed with everything. Made him dumb, stupid and out of control. And the fog. The post-medication fog was almost as bad as whatever injury he was trying to hide from.

This time was no different. His head was full of cotton wool and it was hard to put two thoughts together.

He knew he was in the infirmary. The crinkle of plastic cotton sheets gave that away. That and the smell. Grandma kept this place clean the old-fashioned way – antiseptic and scrubbing brushes. The fact MAX, one of the most technologically advanced AIs on the planet, often helped her do the cleaning was an oxymoron, but what worked did the job as far as she was concerned.

As usual, he made the same mistake he always made in this situation and tried to move.

He couldn’t help the groan as his arm complained.

“Virg?”

Gordon.

A slow blink and the orange of his little brother’s shirt wobbled into focus. “Gords?”

“Hey, Virg. How are you feeling?”

A grunt and a few more neurons came online. Apparently, apart from some stiffness, only his arm was giving him trouble.

And his head.

Damn fog.

“Been worse.” He focussed on his brother’s face and frowned. “Are you okay?” Gordon’s eyes were red rimmed and strained, his face pale. It was so unlike his little brother’s usual demeanour, alarm bells started ringing and the fog was shoved aside as much as possible. “Gordon, talk to me.” He shoved his good arm under and pushed himself up.

Gordon reacted immediately, shooting up out of his seat and attempting to usher Virgil to lie back on the bed. “Hey, relax, Virgil. I’m f-fine.”

But his sunshine brother’s voice cracked on the last word and Gordon, the brightest ray of light amongst his brothers, WASP agent, survivor, tough as nails IR operative, had a tremble in his voice.

What the hell?

Virgil made vertical, Gordon’s hands attempting to both help and hinder. The world spun for a few long moments, but he was more worried about Gordon. “What’s wrong?”

“Damn it, Virgil, Grandma’s going to kill me if you hurt yourself.”

A breath. “I’m fine.” Focus. He threw off the covers and swung his legs around so he could sit without falling over. His arm was strapped to his bare chest.

Oh.

Ohhhh.

Shit.

Gordon was looking at him with worried eyes. “I can explain.” The words fell from his mouth.

His brother had his hand on Virgil’s good arm. “Virg, please lie down. Grandma’s angry enough already.”

“What?” Damn the fog!

And Gordon was hugging him.

Ever so gently, his arms, so much wirier but no less athletic, seemed so small to Virgil. They always had. Emphasis on the words ‘little brother’.

Virgil’s one good arm returned the embrace as best he could. “Gords, what is it?”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For everything.”

“What? Gords, I don’t have the brainpower, or the coffee, for a guessing game.” Ugh, medication meant no coffee allowed, damnit!

Gordon stepped back and despite all the aquanaut’s years of experience and full adulthood, all Virgil could see was that scared kid who had lost his remaining parent in a fireball all those years ago.

He grabbed his little brother’s arm. “Gordon, talk to me.”

Strained carnelian eyes. “Why did you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Your tattoo.”

A swallow. “Because I needed to.” It had been a dark time.

There had been too many dark times.

Gordon’s eyes were focussed on Virgil’s shoulder, now swathed in bandages, likely hiding most of his tally.

“But Cass…”

Virgil’s heart froze. Pain far too recent to face. He couldn’t go there. Not yet.

No, please, not yet.

“It was Dad. And Mom. I…I wanted to acknowledge them. I needed them...with me.” How the hell did he explain it?

How did he explain the gaping holes they had left behind that he could not fill? Their ghosts haunted him in the deep of night. They hovered at the edge of his perception, taunting at being there, but when he turned, they were just as gone as they actually were.

Cass smiled at him in his dreams, his list of unfulfilled promises in her beautiful eyes.

“It helps.” A reminder of reality.

“But all those other dates?”

“A reminder. To try harder. To acknowledge their loss.”

“But-“

“It is my choice, Gordon. It does what I need it to do.”

His brother’s expression altered just a little, resignation creeping in. But then… “I have a book.” It was a whispered admission.

Blink. “What?”

Gordon straightened just a little. “I have a book. With names. Notes. What I remember about them. The ones I couldn’t help.”

Virgil’s eyes widened. “Gords…” His hand tightened around his brother’s arm.

The aquanaut looked up at him. “I do understand. Perhaps not the medium. But…yeah.” He looked away and sighed. “Dad’s pissed.”

Oh, shit.

“He and Scott had a showdown like I have never seen. It’s like Dad expected Scott to look after us. Like we aren’t adults. Like it was his responsibility.” Gordon’s lips thinned. “And Grandma…hell, Virg.”

And there was the source of the strain in his brother’s eyes. Family could hurt like no other.

“Help me up.” Virgil shuffled to the edge of the bed.

“Oh, god, hell no, Virg. Grandma will have your ass.” He floundered in an attempt to stop Virgil from climbing off the bed.

“Well, apparently, she already has everyone else’s, so I’ll just add it to her collection.” His feet hit the floor and he wobbled. But a little more spine and he was fully upright, still dressed in his grubby jeans.

The remains of his shirt lay on a chair in the corner. A few unsteady steps and he grabbed it. With his arm strapped up, it would be enough to hide his shame.

“Virg, don’t do this.”

“Could you please help me with my shirt?”

His brother sighed. “Damnit, Virgil, Grandma, Dad and Scott are all going to kill me for this.”

“Not your fault.” He fumbled with flannel and the material slipped from his fingers to fall to the floor. For the love of…!

But Gordon was there. His hands picked up the shirt and draped it across Virgil’s shoulders, helping him into the one remaining sleeve and buttoning it up to hold it in place best the ruined piece of clothing could do.

“Thanks, Gordon.”

His brother was not impressed. “You can put that on my headstone.”

“This is not on you.”

“It’s not on Scott either, but that doesn’t seem to matter.”

Virgil straightened as best he could. “I’ll fix it.”

“Virg-“

A hand on his brother’s shoulder, he tipped his head down a little for emphasis, grabbing his brother’s eyes with his own. “I’ll fix it.”

Gordon still wasn’t happy, but he put his hand over Virgil’s for just a moment. “I’m coming, too. Even if all I can do is prevent you from falling on your face. I’m dead either way, anyway.”

“This is not on you.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Virgil sighed, let his hand drop and turned towards the door.

Steps a little wonky, he went looking for the rest of his family.

To kick his own share of asses.

-o-o-o-

End Part Five


	6. Chapter 6

He hunted down his father first. ‘Hunted’ was an exaggerated term since making his unsteady way to his father’s office, wading through the fog that persisted in his head while listening to Gordon desperately trying to get him to go back to bed each time he stumbled was hardly stalking of any kind. As it was, he had to pause outside his father’s door and gather himself. He straightened his spine and tried to shed the dregs of the medication and the fatigue that came with it.

His father was a strong man. Even after his eight-year ordeal, long term injury or no, the entrepreneur had an apparently inexhaustible well of determination.

He was an older version of Scott.

And just as obstinate.

Swallowing, he raised a hand and knocked on the wooden door.

“Enter.” It was distracted, but not unexpectedly so. If Dad was angry, he would bury himself in work.

Ever so much like his eldest son.

The door slid back and Virgil took the necessary steps towards what he knew was coming.

His father was sitting at his desk, rifling through holograms, a frown on his face. It took him a moment to realise who had entered.

“Virgil! What are you doing out of bed?” Grey eyes targeted his fish brother just behind him as his Dad stood up. “Gordon?”

The aquanaut held up his hands. “Hey, have you ever tried to stop Virg from doing what he wants to do? Easier to stop Two by stepping in front of her.”

“Gordon.” Virgil’s voice was sharp, but he couldn’t help the fondness that came with it.

His father appeared a little mollified, his frown a touch softer. He waved Virgil to a chair. “Sit down before you fall down.”

As Virgil shuffled over to one of the two chairs opposite his Dad’s desk, his father returned to his own seat and went back to juggling holograms.

Gordon hesitated a moment before joining Virgil and taking the other seat.

And they waited.

His father’s eyes darted over data as his fingers flitted over reports. Virgil was suddenly struck by how much Dad was like John in that moment. He didn’t look much like his middle brother, but his actions, poise and efficiency screamed the lithe astronaut.

Shouldn’t be a surprise. Had to come from somewhere.

“Sorry, Virgil, I just need to quickly send a document to…” His fingers hit several holographic controls. “…there.” A wave of his hand and all the holograms blurred and disappeared. Fiery grey eyes landed on Virgil, their piercing full attention somewhat more daunting than that of his eldest brother, but very reminiscent nonetheless. “Now, why are you out of bed? Your grandmother is not going to be happy.”

“You have some questions about my tattoo.” Straight to the point.

Dad shifted in his seat and moved a datapad to one side on his desk, his eyes turning away to follow his hand. “I do, but they can wait until you are better.” Those eyes darted to Virgil’s bandaged shoulder, but his father didn’t say anything further.

Virgil’s eyes narrowed just a bit. “No, I don’t think they can wait.”

That earned him the return of that fiery gaze. “You should be resting.”

“I should.” Virgil let his head drop just a little in agreement. “But this can’t wait.” Not with Scott in the firing line for Virgil’s weakness.

“Why not?”

“Scott.”

“Explain.”

“For some reason you apparently believe my tattoo is his responsibility.”

His father’s lips tightened and Virgil could sense his mind reaching for the correct words.

“I have some questions as to why this issue hasn’t been seen to by a professional.”

“You mean a psychiatrist.”

“If necessary.”

“It has.” Virgil was painfully aware of Gordon’s eyes widening. “The tattoo was seen as a compromise.”

“For what?”

“That is not on the table for discussion.” It was no one’s business other than his own.

Those grey eyes pierced into his soul, their worry a physical thing. “I only want to understand, son.”

Virgil blinked, a sigh escaping despite his determination, and he looked down a second. “Dad, it hasn’t been an easy life.”

His father visibly swallowed. “If I had known...”

Virgil frowned. “Known what?”

“That it would be too much for you to handle-“

Gordon shot to his feet. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Virgil would have grabbed his brother and yanked him back down as his father stood, anger in his shoulders, but the sudden flood of failure was overwhelming.

Their father squared with his brother across the desk. “Gordon, this has nothing to do with you.”

“You bet your ass it does. Virg is the strongest of us all. So, he has a coping mechanism, big deal.” His eyes flashed. “Beats the hell out of an alcohol problem.”

Virgil flinched. “Gordon!”

“You got something you want to say, son?” It was a challenge. A red flag.

“You know what? Yeah, I do.”

Gordon took a step forward, but Virgil reached up with his one good arm and grabbed him. “Sit down, Gordon.”

“Virg-“

“I said, sit down!”

It may have been reflex on his brother’s part due to their command structure, but whatever it was, Virgil was glad Gordon did as he asked. His expression was stormy and obstinate and, no doubt, he would flare again soon, but he shut up.

Virgil pushed himself slowly to his feet. His spine straightened and his shoulders set as much as they could. He would never be as tall as Scott or his father, but then he had never felt he needed to be.

His voice was quiet and a little sad. “Dad, I have been doing this job for ten years.” He took a step forward. “I have given International Rescue everything... _everything_...I have.” He paused, catching his father’s eyes to drive his point home. “And yes, there are days where I am not enough. Everything I have is simply _not enough._ And on those days people die. Babies, children, women, men, entire families slip from my fingers simply because I’m _not enough_. Those are the days I despair. Those are the days where my skin itches and my soul screams for redemption.” He sighed. “Can I handle it?” He shrugged and tried not to wince. “Well, I’m still alive, Dad. It hasn’t killed me yet.”

The older man opened his mouth to respond, pain in his eyes, but a knock at the door interrupted them.

His father sighed, but his eyes didn’t leave Virgil and Virgil didn’t back down.

But then, Scott barged into the room uninvited. “Dad, I need to speak to you...” A blink as he trailed off. “Virgil? What are you doing up? You should be in bed.” And now a pair of blue eyes scrutinised him, that ever familiar worry in their depths. But then his brother connected the dots - the anger in Gordon’s expression, the worry in his father’s and the determination Virgil was no doubt screaming.

“What’s going on?”

-o-o-o-


	7. Chapter 7

Scott had John to thank for many things. It had been his space brother who had run the gauntlet and killed off the argument in the comms room.

Scott’s heart had been beating a mile a minute, the sight of his father standing beside his desk, so angry, blurred with that long-sought image he had clung to in his mind for all those years.

Red hair and aquamarine eyes had blocked the mirage, a hand landing on his shoulder. “Scott, it’s okay.”

He frowned at his little brother. “John, no.” This was for Virgil. Dad had to understand.

“Give Dad time.” The words were enunciated clearly and firmly and Scott was captured by that aquamarine. John’s eyes were intense, communicating the need for patience. A glance in his father’s direction and he found the man leaning heavily against his desk, staring at the floor an expression of pain and loss on his face.

Grandma stood beside him, her hand on his arm, talking to him quietly.

Scott blinked.

Aw, hell.

“Scott?” And he was drawn back to his brother’s eyes yet again. “Walk with me?”

He blinked again. “Okay?” John was still in his spacesuit and Scott could see the subtle indications of the active gravity support in place. He pressed his lips together, but John smiled just a little at him and squeezed his shoulder. “C’mon, big bro, show me that rockfall on the eastern slope you were telling me about.”

Still Scott hesitated, but it was the sight of Gordon corralling a worried Alan that decided it. Perhaps Alan and John were here for a good reason.

His eyes tracked to Grandma, the person likely responsible. She had her hand on his father’s cheek and was still talking. She didn’t turn in his direction, her focus entirely upon her son.

Her son who had been missing for eight years.

Scott’s heart hollowed out and he dropped his head to stare at John’s feet a moment before facing his little brother once again. “Okay.”

John’s half smile was kind and he turned, leading Scott from the room.

One last glance at his father and a pair of sad grey eyes looked up.

Scott straightened just a little and wished for things that could never be.

-o-o-o-

They didn’t make it as far as the rockfall. John drew him to a halt not far from the house, along his morning track, and told him to sit down. It was Thunderbird Five talking and long habit had him obeying. There had always been a question of who was actually in charge of International Rescue. John was a frontline contender.

There was silence for some time as his brother pulled up a rock beside him and they both stared out at the ocean. The breeze was gentle, but a touch cold for this time of year and that made it brisk against his skin.

John was known for preferring the hermit life, holed up on Five, but Scott had to give him credit, he knew more about people than he let on. He knew how to play the ebb and flow of a conversation, more as an observer than a participant, but those eyes saw everything.

“I knew about Virgil’s tattoo.” The words were quiet and his brother didn’t look in his direction, speaking to the ocean rather than Scott. “And I think...I think you handled it well.”

Scott stared at him. He shouldn’t be surprised. John kept many secrets. “How?”

This time his brother did turn to face him. “I was there that night you found him.”

Scott’s blood chilled. That night had been hell. That day had been one of the worst. An entire three generations of a family lost in a flood and his brother almost with it. Virgil’s survivor’s guilt had driven him to the edge. It hadn’t helped that they had lost their father only months before, that Scott had lost himself for a while there and that he had to admit it, Virgil had taken up the slack while the whole family stumbled.

And it had almost broken him.

Yes, there was a share of his own guilt there amongst those dates. His own failure as a brother and the need for Virgil to etch in those numbers every time they lost someone.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“Yeah, it was. I should have been there for him.”

“You were.”

“But not enough.”

“It was a hard time.”

Scott let out a frustrated breath. “No excuse.”

“You’re as bad as he is. You can only shoulder so much responsibility.”

“Yeah, well, this responsibility is mine.”

Scott shoved himself to his feet, his runners crunching on volcanic gravel.

John sighed, standing up beside him. “You got him through it. You did everything you could.”

“Dad’s right.”

“Dad’s wrong!” His brother’s words were sharp. “Dad’s in shock, he’s worried, and, I hate to say it, he’s discovering that while International Rescue survived, some things didn’t.”

Scott froze, staring at his brother. “What do you mean?”

John frowned at him. “Things had to change, Scott. Surely you can see that.”

“I...” He had tried so hard to preserve what his father had started. He had kept the spirit, the drive, he had so wanted to make his parents proud. But the truth of his own words haunted him.

They had done the best they could.

The thought that their best wasn’t good enough in his father’s eyes tore at his very soul.

But John’s hand was once again on his shoulder. Hell, he must look bad if his reserved brother felt the need to reach out.

Hell, that wasn’t a fair thought. John...he closed his eyes and wrapped John in a hug. It was rare and his brother squawked, but Scott needed it and he knew John was willing to give it.

He wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t.

And predictably, space-suited arms wrapped around him and held him tight.

Was John getting taller? Goddamn, the man was all muscle and height, a vast difference to his three other brothers.

“Scott, I need that ribcage.” It was strangled, but amused.

Scott let him go, his own breath coming out in an embarrassed huff of air. He looked down at his shoes, his eye tracking a small beetle as it scurried across the path. His thoughts idled as his brain desperately tried to right itself and he wondered if Virgil or Gordon knew the species.

It spread its wings and flew off, taken by the breeze.

“Thanks, John.” His voice was rough and tied up in emotion he didn’t want to acknowledge. He looked up to find the tiniest of smiles on his brother’s face, those eyes full of what only could be considered love.

Scott bit his lip.

Goddamnit.

He reached out and put his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “When did you get so damned tall?”

The smile became a grin, the aquamarine dancing in amusement. “When did you get so short?”

Scott reached for his brother’s hair, but the astronaut ducked out of reach before he could muss that orange mess.

“You’ll have to be faster than that.”

“Is that a dare?”

John snorted. “Me? Dare the great Scott Tracy, speed addict, to go faster? I’m not that insane.” But his grin told a different story.

Scott grunted.

“Anyway, you going to show me that rockfall. Virgil said there was some olivine?”

“Virgil said what?”

“Green rocks?”

“Oh, yeah.”

John smirked.

“You know, you are asking for it.”

“Maybe, but can you deliver it?” John turned and started walking up the trail as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

Scott glared after him. John knew that Scott wouldn’t tackle him this close to re-entry and certainly not with his gravity support functioning. He muttered under his breath and made a note to strangle him in a few days’ time.

If he was still on Earth.

-o-o-o-

The rest of the day passed quietly. Scott spent some good time with John as they first walked to the landslide and discussed ‘green rocks’ - yes, he was definitely going to strangle his brother at the first opportunity, possibly Virgil as well, once he was better. Of course, thinking of Virgil sobered him dramatically. John picked up on it and dragged him further around the Island.

It had been a while since his brother had made the trek around the rim of their home and Scott gained the experience of seeing it all anew through John’s eyes, despite having made the run himself that morning and every other morning prior.

First looking down at the open ocean pounding the north side of the Island, its raw energy thrown against volcanic cliffs. Then up at the sky which had a scattering of windblown clouds skating across the Pacific from the general direction of Tonga.

His mind automatically supplied the speed he would need, the likely turbulence, his flight path off the Island...

If he had wings, he would have taken flight.

The fact John was smiling fondly at him again, had him grunting and stalking off further down the path.

John knew him far too well.

Eventually they did return to the villa, but by then Scott felt so much more settled, more centred, more able to take on his father calmly. To face what needed to be faced.

But he didn’t expect to find Virgil confronting his father when he should be in bed. Didn’t expect to find the anger in Gordon’s expression or the pain in his father’s.

It brought him up short.

“What’s going on?”

-o-o-o-

End Part Seven.


	8. Chapter 8

“What’s going on?”

Virgil stared at Scott for a solid moment, but no one answered him.

The room was frozen and it was clear he had interrupted something.

Virgil let out a breath and caught the edge of the desk with his hand.

It was like a switch, and suddenly the room was moving again. Scott darted in to steady his brother, while Gordon stepped up on his other side.

Dad…Dad stared as they moved as one.

Scott frowned at his brother. “What the hell are you doing?”

Virgil tried to wave him away, but he only had one hand and apparently that was needed to keep him vertical. “Needed to speak to Dad. To explain.” He swallowed, closing his eyes a moment. He scrunched up his face before straightening up and taking his own weight again. “I’m okay.” His voice was a little hoarse. “Dad just needs to understand that it wasn’t your fault.”

Scott’s lips thinned as his brother glared up at him, forcing him to let go. “You should be in bed.”

“Not until he understands and respects our decisions.”

A blink.

His father flinched on the other side of the desk. “Virgil, I assure you, I do. You boys have done an amazing job and I could not be prouder.”

Virgil turned to face his father, sadness in his eyes. “Even if I’m not as strong as you wished I could be?”

Oh, god, Virg.

Scott wanted to reach out to his brother. “Virgil-“

Their father interrupted, holding up a hand. “No, Scott.” The man grabbed his cane and strode around the desk, the clunk on the hardwood tracked by Virgil’s eyes.

Scott stepped back to give him room, but continued to stand beside Virgil. Gordon slipped up to the engineer’s other side, the three of them lining up to face the man who towered over all their lives.

Their father’s expression was ever so sad as he came to a halt directly in front of Virgil. “Son, I know that in the past we have not met eye to eye. You have…so much of your mother in you…” Scott’s heart stopped. “But whatever our disagreements, our differences, you have always, always been more than I could ever have possibly wished for.”

Virgil’s mouth opened just a little, his eyes widening. But nothing was said.

“Virgil.” Dad’s tone was gentle. “This tattoo…it…” He bit his lip, tightening his mouth as if the words he was trying to say physically hurt. “…scared me.” An embarrassed exhalation. “When you all found me, I was so happy to see all of you healthy and whole. During those long years apart…I had imagined so many things going wrong. Not knowing if I had lost one or more of you…then to find you all alive, all safe…” Dad blinked and Scott’s heart lurched as glistening grey eyes turned to him. “You cannot know…” But his father gathered himself and turned back to Virgil.

Scott blinked and swallowed, his throat tight.

“To realise how close I came to losing you, scared me, Virgil. Terrified me.”

“I’m still here, Dad.” Virgil’s voice was soft as he gazed up at his father.

“There is more than one way to lose those you love, Virgil.”

An incoherent sound slipped from his brother’s lips and suddenly Scott had to steady his father as Virgil stumbled and grabbed the man in an awkward but desperate one-armed hug. Virgil may be shorter than Dad, but his mass, injured or not, was considerable. “Dad, I’m sorry. So sorry.”

His father buried his face in Virgil’s hair and scrunched his eyes shut, his arms encircling his son as best he could around the shoulder injury.

Scott had to swallow again and a glance in Gordon’s direction found blinking eyes glistening, no doubt, as much as his own.

“I just want you to be safe.” Dad looked up at Scott, an uncharacteristic desperation on his face.

“We’re okay, Dad.” The words whispered between his lips. Scott straightened. “We’re okay, I promise.”

-o-o-o-

Virgil clung to his father for a long moment before pulling himself together and stepping back unsteadily. This, of course, triggered his brothers to once again tell him to go back to bed.

But his father was quiet, those grey eyes not leaving Virgil for a moment. One worn hand still clutched at his good arm, fingers tangling in the flannel.

“You should go to bed, son.”

“Dad, I...” But the words of protest weren’t there. The expression in his father’s eyes was the same reassurance he had given Virgil on the Zero XL.

“Go to bed, son.”

“Yes, father.” It was formal, but the acceptance of the order felt that way.

“C’mon, Virg.” And Scott was leading him away.

His father’s eyes tracked him out of the room. “Gordon, can I have a word?”

“Dad?”

“What is this I hear about you dyeing Parker’s hair pink?”

“Uh...”

Scott slid the door shut behind them.

“Pink?” Virgil stared at Scott.

Scott snorted as he urged him down the hallway. “Three days ago, while you were in Beijing. In my opinion, he asked for it.”

Virgil focussed on keeping himself upright. “Parker? What did he do?”

“Bombed Gordon’s date night last week. Claimed he was chaperoning. Penelope, thought it was hilarious. Gordon did not. Hence, pink hair dye. Told him he matched the decor.”

Well, that explained a lot.

“He is aware that Parker has a long, long history that resides on various sides of the law.”

Scott smirked as they approached the elevator. “I think Gordon is about to learn some valuable life lessons.”

Oh shit. Virgil made a mental note to check on his brother, maybe ping Penelope and make sure nothing permanent was lined up. Gordon may be a pain in the ass, but he was his brother and he had gotten comfortable with the pain over the years.

The elevator ride was smooth, but Scott made a point of holding onto Virgil. He couldn’t fault his big brother for his concern. After all, there was the incident with the morphine and the sunken couch all those years ago.

Virgil was never going to live that one down.

So, he tolerated the coddling all the way to his rooms. Because it was his rooms, not the infirmary. He was not sick.

That earned him an annoyed grunt.

But it was far more relaxing to be surrounded by his things, in his rooms with his bed...which he sat down on with a relieved groan.

“Now stay there.” The glare on his brother’s face was more fond than stern and Virgil had to hold back the urge to woof up at him, or take a page out of Gordon’s book and imitate Igor, the mad scientist’s assistant with a ‘Yes, Masssster.’

Instead he just tipped himself over with a sigh, curled up on the bed and closed his eyes.

His brother, ever predictable, pulled up the duvet and literally tucked him in like he had done, oh, so many times before. Virgil murmured thanks, grateful as he always was, for his big, big brother and his caring heart.

-o-o-o-

End Part Eight


	9. Chapter 9

Virgil woke early the next morning. Woken by pain and worn off meds, he was forced out of bed by the sheer ache in his shoulder, arm and wrist.

Movement was hell.

He desperately needed a shower, coffee and, he had to admit it, painkillers.

Today was going to suck.

He was still in his damn jeans and ruined shirt. He considered attempting to remove the clothing, but was far from confident that he would be able to replace them. Wandering about the villa naked wasn’t preferred.

So, first priority was to dig up some meds so he could move and get himself showered and mobile.

He sucked in a breath and headed to the door in socked feet.

He made it to the infirmary undetected, but that should have given him a clue. It may be five am, but he had brothers up before the sun every morning.

And a grandmother who refused to waste a single day.

“Virgil?”

He had his head in the medicine cabinet and he hadn’t heard her enter. Caught with his hand in the cookie jar and he had no excuses.

Just an aching body.

He turned slowly, his one working shoulder slumping. “Grandma.”

She approached and gently nudged him aside, reaching into the cabinet and snagging a bottle. Turning, she cupped his hand in hers and nestled the medication into his palm with her other hand. “These should do the job.”

She held his eyes for a moment before pulling away and turning to leave.

His heart lurched.

“Grandma?”

Her hand landed on his bicep again and gently squeezed, but she stepped away without a word, heading towards the door.

“Grandma, please.”

She stopped, but didn’t turn back.

“Please let me explain.” His voice broke on the last word and he found his heart in his throat. “I’m sorry, Grandma. Please, I’m sorry.”

He could blame it on the early hour, the pain, the post injury weariness, but honestly, it was simply because he loved his grandmother and couldn’t bear to think he had broken her trust irrevocably.

There was a tension in her shoulders that suddenly released and she slumped where she stood, her whole posture going limp.

When she turned there were once again tears in her eyes.

The sight broke his heart and he was moving. “Grandma, don’t...I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He wrapped her in his one good arm and cursed the arm that caused all this to begin with. Cursed himself for being the source of so much pain.

But she was suddenly clinging to him, sobbing on his shoulder.

Oh god.

Grandma.

His eyes pricked with their own tears and he was blinking madly. “Grandma, I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault.” The words were soft and muffled by flannel. A rough breath and his grandmother pulled away a little, watery blue eyes looking up at him with such love and sadness, he wasn’t sure his heart could take it.

The pain in his chest out shone that in his arm.

“Virgil, I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me.”

He blinked and stared at her, ignoring the single tear that escaped and tracked down his cheek. “What?” It was dumb and stupid and yet another sign that he needed coffee, but... “Grandma, you’ve always been there. Always.”

She reached up and wiped away the tear with her fingertip. “Not enough, honey.” Her eyes drifted to his shoulder before closing again. She dropped her forehead onto his chest.

He found his hand stroking her hair automatically.

-o-o-o-

Sally Tracy considered herself a strong woman. She had seen much in her relatively long life. She’d seen death and injury, lost those she loved, oh, so many she loved. But she had clung to her tenets of strength and stubbornness and the Tracy maxim of never giving up. She weathered it all.

She would never have thought that simple ink on the scarred shoulder of her grandson could disassemble her so easily.

The sight of those dates, several of which were etched into her own mind, the symbolism and the pain behind elegance...it had knifed straight into her heart and broken it.

To her absolute shame, she had not only fled her patient, but her beloved grandson. Left him in pain and anguish, and god, failed both herself and her family.

The anger had been at herself. At fate and its cruelty in scarring a man who could not be kinder, who made the world a better place simply by being himself.

The injustice screamed at her.

But most of all, it was the shock, the absolute shame of her not knowing. The knowledge that Virgil had been suffering with this FOR YEARS and she hadn’t noticed. Hadn’t seen.

Her doctorate, her experience, her love. It had all failed him and her.

It was crushing.

So, she had struck out, struggling to reassert her strength and determination amongst grief and denial.

And only hurt him more.

Fuck.

And now, where she should be showing strength, should be supporting and reassuring him, he was forced to care for her as she failed yet again.

His strong hand in her hair and her tears on his ruined shirt, she was little more than the farm girl she started out as, so long ago, wishing Grant was there to tell her everything was going to be alright.

“Grandma?” His voice cracked.

It was enough. She straightened and stepped back, wiping her eyes. “I’m sorry, Virgil.”

The worry in his dark eyes as he held her arm. “No, no, don’t apologise. Grandma-“

“You need to take your medication.”

Her words stopped him short and those eyes flinched just a little.

She cursed herself again.

She was the parent. She was the caregiver. For goodness sake!

“Honey, you’re in pain. Let’s get that fixed and then we can talk.” She held back a flinch herself. She didn’t want to talk. She didn’t want to face what was on his shoulder and what it meant. It scared her. Its existence and the concept that it was a ‘compromise’ absolutely terrified her. That despite doing everything she could for her boys, she hadn’t done enough.

The possibility that her beloved grandson had almost been lost due to her own neglect.

He was still staring at her.

Her hand was shaking as she took his, fingers still clasped around the pill bottle. “Take your medication, honey.”

He looked down at their hands and back up at her before stepping aside and placing the pills on the table. He paused staring and she realised her stupidity.

He only had one hand.

She blinked. Grabbing the bottle, she opened it and shook two of the tablets into his hand. Cap back on, she went to the sink and acquiring a glass, filled it with water. The familiar motions were a little reassuring. She was being useful.

His eyes never left her a moment.

She returned to him and held out the glass.

He shoved the pills in his mouth and took the water, throwing it back to down the medication.

She stared as his larynx bounced in his throat.

The glass landed quietly on the counter as he swallowed the last of the water.

She waited.

He exhaled.

“Grandma-“

“I need to see it.” The words fell from her lips without thought and she regretted them immediately.

He stared at her, eyes widening.

Her heart twisted.

And he retreated, stepping back and turning away. He grabbed the pill bottle and made himself busy putting it back in the cupboard.

She stared at the back of his ruined shirt, the plaid wrinkled as he moved.

Then he ran out of busy work.

He kept his back turned to her, stiff and so...hurting, her throat closed up again.

“Grandma, I don’t want to hurt you...any more.” His voice was parched and slightly muffled by the fact he refused to look at her. Her only clue to his expression was what little she could see of his reflection in the glass of the cabinet door.

Dark hair, dark eyes, one of her grandbabies...

Her hand touched his back and his muscles tensed under her fingertips. “You haven’t hurt me, Virgil.”

He spun around at that, grabbing at his arm as the movement obviously aggravated it. “I made you cry, Grandma. Twice.” His crumpled brow illustrated exactly the pain she had caused him with her reactions.

She reached up and cupped his cheek. “Because I failed you. I’m your grandmother-“

But he was shaking his head and her hand slipped away. “You can’t fix this, Grandma. I...” He let out a frustrated breath before catching her eyes. “This is on me. This is my issue and I’m handling it the best I can.”

And he turned away again.

Perhaps she was a failure because she couldn’t leave it there. “Please talk to me, Virgil.”

“What do you want me to say?” It was desolate.

“Why didn’t you come to me?” Perhaps that was the core of it. He always came to her for advice and assistance, yet, in the moment of his direst need, he hadn’t.

He sighed. “Grandma, we’d just lost Dad. You were grieving. Everyone was grieving. I thought I could handle it.” He was staring at the countertop. “And when I realised I couldn’t, it was too late.”

She took a step closer, once again unable to resist placing a hand on his back. “It is never too late. You can come to me with anything at any time.”

“Not this.” Another sigh. “Never this.” He closed his eyes and hunched in on himself and she wanted nothing more than to hold him like she had as a toddler and make everything better.

She was his grandmother; it was her job.

“Can you tell me what happened?”

He didn’t even verbalise his reply, only shaking his head, still staring at the counter.

“Are you seeing someone?”

He nodded.

At least that was something.

“Has it helped?”

“I’m okay, Grandma.”

Her fingers tangled in flannel. He didn’t look okay. Every alarm both medical and parental were screaming in her head. “Promise me?”

Dark, bloodshot eyes darted in her direction. He couldn’t lie to her, she knew that. At least not to her face. Perhaps that was the hardest part of this - the fact he had managed to hide this from her despite that.

He held her gaze a moment longer and she saw a decision made as he closed his eyes for just a second before reaching for the buttons on his shirt and undoing them one by one.

She dared not say anything to interrupt him. Dared not assist him. This was his decision, despite her request. The wrecked shirt was shucked from his shoulders and discarded on a chair.

He began picking at his bandages.

“Virgil?”

“You want to see? You’re going to have to help me.” It was sharp, but she wasn’t arguing, quick fingers unwrapping the bandaging that both held his injured arm and wrist to his body and hid the tattoo on his shoulder.

As the limb came loose, he hissed between his teeth and she almost called the entire thing to a halt. He must have sensed her hesitancy because he took over pulling the bandaging off willy nilly.

“Virgil.”

“You want to see it. I want you to understand.”

“Not if it is going to hurt you further.”

“It’s going to hurt, no matter what, so I’d rather get it over and done with.”

Damnit. “Well, at least sit down. Here.” She nudged him toward one of the beds.

He shuffled backwards and planted himself on the edge. She grabbed the control and lowered it further so he could slide on comfortably.

His sigh was more of a groan and her guilt was a physical thing.

But she had to know.

The bandages came away revealing the expected swelling around his shoulder. Her medical eye did an assessment and was happy with its state, but it was the creep of black ink, the curl of a stylised leaf and the white of old scars that marred the apex of his scapula that churned her stomach.

As he settled into a slump on the side of the bed, he let his eyes close. “Look. Ask. I will answer what I can.”

“I’m sorry, Virgil.”

“Grandma, just do it, please.”

Her lips tightened, but she moved around the end of the bed and approached him from behind.

It was an axe. A great Celtic axe adorned with knotted ribbon and stylised ivy. The handle of the axe was clutched in the talons of a great bird of prey. Whether it was a real bird or mythical, she had no idea. The whole adornment covered his entire shoulder and bled towards his lower back.

For the most part it was a normal tattoo, an impressive one, even, but the blade of the axe had a date etched into it, literally etched in relief. Her grandson’s skin rose tight and puckered red. The date of his mother’s death.

Next to it was another date. The date of his father’s disappearance.

Woven amongst the Celtic knots a ghastly red ribbon wrapped around and around the handle of the axe, looping around an ankle of the bird and curling outside the extent of the tattoo and heading down towards his lumbar spine.

The ribbon had dates. So many dates.

The occasional name appeared on the knots. She even recognised a few. The last date was Cassandra McCready and her name was calligraphed on the handle.

There was so much information, she wasn’t sure where to look and it took her a moment to realise the worst of it all.

As she stepped closer to her grandson the light cast shadows. Each date rose in scar, but underneath it all, underneath every inked line there were a series of deeper scars hidden, dimpling dark skin.

As if a claw had torn at her grandson’s shoulder, attempting to rip the skin off his body.

The ink glittered dully in the overhead lighting.

Sally swallowed and tried to get her heart and breathing under control.

“It is done by a professional, Grandma. Safe and sterile. Confidentiality is in place. The artist can be trusted.”

She didn’t say anything. Her eyes following the scars, catching dates she could connect in her head with disasters. At the very top of the axe a moniker caught her eye.

Oh, god.

Grandpa.

Grant Tracy.

It was tiny, beautifully scripted, and in that moment, she had an inkling of exactly why her grandson did this. This memorial. This honour to those he had lost.

And why those dates were raised. Unthinking, she reached out and touched her fingertip gently to her husband’s name. Virgil’s skin was warm and the scar rough.

“Grandpa was one of the first.”

She snatched her hand away and his shoulder flexed. A hiss and Virgil clutched at his arm again.

“Honey?”

“It has grown over the years. Never expected it to get this big.” It was said through gritted teeth.

“Does it have everyone?” Her voice was little more than a whisper.

“No. Only those I failed.”

“You have never failed anyone, Virgil.”

“I...” His head dipped. “I wish that were true.” A ragged breath. “I’ve held so many last moments, Grandma. Been unable to reach. Missed at the last second. They scream. They always scream. Their eyes cry out and I’m just not enough. Not fast enough. Not close enough. Not smart enough. They deserve more, but I can’t give it to them.” Another breath, this one shaking. “So, I give them this at least. Memory. I can remember them and try harder next time.”

Sally’s hand was shaking as she laid her palm against his back. A moment and her cheek followed, her arms wrapping around him the best she could. His good shoulder flexed under her temple as he captured her hands in his single one. “I’m okay, Grandma. I promise.”

-o-o-o-

End Part Nine


	10. Chapter 10

Scott was up far too early that morning. His sleep had been broken by memories he hadn’t let surface for a long time. There was guilt with that. Perhaps he hadn’t been paying enough attention to his younger brother’s mental health. Perhaps he had once again fallen for the illusion that Virgil was the rock of the family.

Perhaps Virgil’s accident was just a convenient reminder of what could have happened if he hadn’t found his brother that night.

It was too early to go for a run. Too dark unless he wanted to accidentally step off a cliff he didn’t see coming. So, he was left to his thoughts sitting at the kitchen table, nursing a coffee, staring out into the darkness.

Virgil was his second in command. He always had been. He was aware that his brother wasn’t like him, wasn’t military minded, but their differences only made them a stronger team. Virgil saw what he missed, he stood in for younger brothers and took Scott on when he needed to, just like any formal second in command would.

The man was calm, solid and as stubborn as a mule when he needed to be. Scott loved him for it.

So, it had been unexpected to find him shattered and bleeding, both mentally and literally that night so long ago.

Scott had known it had been a bad day, that they had lost more lives. He had been there when Virgil’s shoulder had been reset that first time he dislocated it. Had seen the stitches in his back.

What he hadn’t seen was the last straw, the moment when losing so much had finally broken his brother.

He was ashamed to admit that it was chance that he had been down by the beach hut. He hadn’t even gone looking for Virgil.

But he found him.

Curled up on a rock at the edge of the lagoon, he had obviously come out here in an attempt to seek solace. But he hadn’t found it.

The sound of Virgil sobbing in absolute anguish was a sound that haunted him to this day.

The sight of him tearing at his bandages, hooking stitches with his nails, and the blood on his hands...

There had been yelling and fear and tears. Scott had ended up with wet shoes and a brother in his arms desperately clinging, broken and staining his shirt in more ways than one.

The cover up and promises had been quick and hard. A trip to the mainland, hurried security checks for professionals... Kyrano kept so many secrets.

There had been long weeks where Virgil had been off rota supposedly for his injuries, but more so for his mental health.

Keeping worried younger brothers in the dark had been hell. But Virgil insisted. He couldn’t show weakness. Couldn’t break in front of his little brothers.

And Scott understood. He so understood.

Looking back now, it was obvious that John knew something was up. The man was their comms specialist and there was no doubt there was nothing John couldn’t find out if he wanted to know.

Eventually, Virgil had returned to the Island, apparently as healthy and as strong as ever. But Scott had seen the cracks and now could see the hastily plastered walls and his brother’s struggle to keep it all together. The next time they lost someone, the eldest desperately hunted down his brother terrified what he would find.

The lagoon was windy that day, its usual calm tossed by an ocean breeze strong enough to churn up waves to crash against the shore.

Virgil was sitting on the same rocks, staring out across the churned surface. His brother was composed. No sign of the broken man he had found here months earlier. But Virgil appeared to have been expecting him.

His hand twitched against his now healed shoulder. Scott had seen the scars that had formed there. The claw of his brother’s own hand left tracks in his skin.

“Virg?”

That hand spasmed and, for a second, clawed at the cloth of Virgil’s t-shirt.

“I need something.” His fingers twitched. “I need to remember them. To honour them.” Wide, sad, dark eyes turned to face Scott. “I need to _feel_ something other than this.”

His nails dented his shoulder and Scott skipped across rocks to grab at that hand, grasping it gently in both of his, holding it close to his heart as Virgil instinctively tried to pull away. “Virg.”

Those eyes wouldn’t look at him.

“Virg, Peter said it would take time.” Peter was the professional trusted with his brother’s mental health.

His brother stilled. “Time.” His sigh was pain-filled. “Time to forget.” A whole shift in Virgil’s posture as he looked up, depression replaced by defiance. “I don’t want to forget. I don’t want to dismiss their lives. My failures. They deserve more!”

“Virg-“

“Do you want to forget Mom?” A swallow. “Or Dad? Grandpa?”

Scott’s fingers twitched around his brother’s. “No. Of course not. Virg-“

Virgil retrieved his hand, pulling away gently.

It returned to that shoulder and Scott’s heart clenched.

“I want to remember them.” His fingers twitched against his shirt and Scott fought the urge to grab his hand again.

A wave reached up and soaked his shoes with saltwater. “Fine. But I’m not risking you. We will find a way.” Strategy. There was a solution, he just had to find it.

He didn’t find it.

Virgil did.

And Scott still wasn’t convinced it was a good idea.

But from that first day, that first drop of ink to stain Virgil’s skin, it had worked.

The design had been Virgil’s own. A mix of defiance and the Tracy coat of arms, echoing the plaque their grandmother had stuck up on the wall in the main corridor of the villa the day they had moved in.

The fact it was a bird of prey, thunderbird or not, was eerily appropriate.

The axe just chilled Scott.

But his brother now felt those upraised dates on his back whenever his hand reached for that shoulder and whatever reaction he had, it helped.

Scott closed his eyes and let his head fall into his hand. He had been so scared, so terrified he was going to lose...

Virgil was more than his brother.

He couldn’t do this without him.

He didn’t want to do this without him.

It felt selfish, like he had patched his brother up and thrown him back to work, but it wasn’t.

It wasn’t.

The hand on his shoulder startled him enough that coffee spilt all over the table. “Shit.”

A hurried right of his mug and he clambered out of his seat only to collide with his father. “Dad!”

His father stumbled and Scott grabbed him. “Heh, didn’t mean to startle you.” His smile was unsure.

“’S okay, Dad.” He ushered him to a chair. “Sit down while I grab a cloth and clean up this mess.”

There was a frown eyeing him, but Scott ignored it, using the coffee dripping onto the floor as an excuse to not answer the question left unspoken. He managed to kill several moments doing just that, ending up at the sink rinsing the cloth now stained with coffee. His back to his father, he took another moment to gather himself.

He knew what was coming.

“Son?”

He closed his eyes.

The clunk of that damned walking stick on the flagstones had him spinning and holding up a hand. “Sit down, Dad.” Grabbing at straws. “You want a coffee?” Not waiting for an answer, Scott began prepping exactly that, his fingers prodding Virgil’s coffee machine.

“Scott. Sit down.”

He looked up to find his father’s sad eyes beckoning.

A swallow and Scott turned to face the inevitable.

“Son, sit down.” He waved him to a chair across from him.

A sigh. So, interview it was.

He loved his father. Would go to the ends of the solar system and beyond for him, but some things never changed. Jeff Tracy was a determined man.

At least Scott knew where he got it from.

He killed the coffee machine and made his way back to the table, this time taking up a seat that set his back to the shadow of Mateo.

Grey eyes latched onto him.

“I’m proud of you son.”

Blink.

His father reached over and took his hand.

Scott’s eyes widened. Dad had never been one for a great deal of physical contact, but that had changed since he came back. Scott stared at the scarred fingers holding his.

“Son, I…” His father swallowed. “I need to know your brother is okay.”

Scott frowned. “Virgil is okay, Dad. I promise.” It was what he had been saying all along.

A drawn-out sigh. “I need to know if being part of International Rescue is in Virgil’s best interest.”

Eyes widening, Scott pulled back, his hand slipping from his father’s as his back straightened. “Dad, no.”

A held-up hand. “Hear me out.”

“Dad, this happened a long time ago. International Rescue is our lives, Virgil’s life. You can’t take it away from him.” A pause. “I won’t let you.”

Those old grey eyes latched on to him and his father’s lips thinned. “Is he on medication?”

“Dad, you need to speak to V-“

“Is he on medication?”

“Yes. It is handled and monitored. Virgil is fine, Dad!”

His father made a sorrowful sound that cut Scott to the quick, before burying his face in his hands. “I wish…” It was muffled, but Scott heard it. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here. If I had known…” But his voice drifted off and Scott was left staring at his father, his heart sinking more by the minute.

“We made it, Dad. We’re okay.”

His father’s head shot up. “How can you say that? Virgil is suffering from a mental illness exacerbated by his job. Yet you tell me he should keep doing that job despite what it is costing him.”

Voice quiet but firm. “It is his decision, Dad.”

“And what happens if it becomes too much? What if-“

“Dad! It is under control. Virgil is an adult. He knows what he is doing and yes, if something does go wrong, he has all of us. We back each other up. None of us are perfect. We work as a team.”

Grey eyes snapped at him. “What else don’t I know?”

Scott held back a snarl. “What else do you want to know? If you think I’m going to give you the lowdown on all my brother’s personal information, dream on, Dad.”

Those eyes didn’t falter. “Then what about you?”

“What about me? Have I had moments? Of course, I have. You know this job, Dad. It can be hell. And yes, there is a whisky stash in your desk. There always has been.” He returned that piercing glare with one of his own.

“I never claimed to be perfect, son.”

“And neither did we. Virgil’s mental health is his business. He prefers to keep it to himself. I’m aware of it. It is being managed. End of discussion.”

The steel in his father’s eyes did not vanish. “I only want what is best for my children.”

Scott’s lips thinned as he stood up. “We’re not children anymore.”

“I know that, son, but I’m still your parent.”

The tension in Scott’s shoulders only tightened. “Dad-“

“You know, I always remember Scotty being a bit of a clone of you, Dad, but up until now, I’d never really seen how much.”

A blink as Gordon slipped out of the darkness beside the stairs. He had his swimwear on and a towel thrown over his shoulder. His posture was casual, but Scott could see the tension in his shoulders. “Gordon-“

“Hey, Dad, welcome to the whacky world that is International Rescue, your local rescue organisation run by five brothers of questionable sanity. Here be the eldest, a strong, masculine heartbreaker who has an obsession complex that can drive the whole family out of the solar system. His back up and apparently medicated…” He glared at Scott. “…second in command, artist and sensitive type who takes on far too much and suffers for it. Coordinated by our communications guru who is so introverted he can’t go to parties without breaking a sweat. Not to mention our aquanaut who suffers from PSTD because his body was broken six ways to Sunday and yet still managed to survive. And finally, our kid brother who has yet to be traumatised enough to sport a mental illness, but give him time.” A sigh. “Honestly, Dad, what did you expect?”

“Gordon!”

“Scott, c’mon! Face it. It’s a hard job. We do it. Shit happens.”

Their father climbed to his feet. “Are you finished, son?”

Gordon glared at his father. “That depends.” His lips tightened. “Are you seriously considering pulling Virgil from IR?”

Scott flared. “That is not on the table.”

That earned him a brown-eyed glare. “Isn’t it? The fact you are questioning Virgil’s ability to do a job he has excelled at for years…” The glare returned to his father. “I just thought I’d let you know that if you do choose to do that, you can go find yourself another aquanaut. Because Virg goes? I’m going with him.”

“Virgil isn’t going anywhere!” The mere thought of losing any of his brothers… “Gordon, Dad just had some questions-“

“Yeah, questioning if the heart of this outfit was able to do his job.” Gordon rounded on his father again. “If you had seen what Virgil is capable of, you wouldn’t have any questions.”

“Gordon, for god’s sake!”

Their father held up a hand. “It’s fine, Scott. As you said, Gordon has a right to his opinion.” His voice was quiet enough to bring Gordon’s ire to a halt and the sudden gap in conversation let the sounds of the ocean in through the open doors. “But as your father, I have a right to my opinion also. I need information. Scott has been in command for those eight years, so I am asking him for a report.”

“On our brother.”

“On a staff member of International Rescue.” An indrawn breath. “And my son.”

“Then perhaps you should speak to your son.” Those brown eyes flared.

“I intend to.” Those grey eyes turned back to Scott. “However, I was hoping to put him through the least amount of stress by gathering enough information beforehand, in particular what instigated this issue.”

Scott straightened again. “I’m sorry, Dad. That is not my story to tell.”

“Even as Commander of International Rescue?”

Ever so quiet as his eyes held his father’s. “Even then.”

They were all interrupted by the whine of a not-quite-out-of-teenagerhood-despite-being-an-adult at the top of the stairs. “Oh, c’mon, John. I don’t need a warm milk.”

Smooth musical tones. “You had a nightmare, Alan. Warm milk is the best option for a quick return to sleep.”

“Really? Have you got a stash up on Five? Doesn’t that UHT milk taste vile?”

“It’s an acquired taste.”

“Blech!” His little brother caught sight of the three of them. “Wha-? What’s going on?”

Scott just felt sad as Alan and John took the last few steps into the room. But then John’s eyes had that wiser-than-you-know look about them and Scott’s shoulders knotted just that bit more.

Hiding anything from John was futile. And Alan?

John played for keeps.

As if subjected to an antibiotic for anger, Gordon’s stance changed immediately. “Woah, John, you got the squirt up before the sun? How did you manage that without the side effect of death?”

“He had a nightmare.” There was something in his brother’s eyes.

“John! Geez, it was only a bad dream. I’m not a little kid anymore!”

“One that had you screaming.”

“John!”

Scott stepped around the table. “You okay, Allie?”

“Oh, god, John. Now look what you did.”

The elder astronaut had a rather knowing smirk on his face.

Scott glared at him.

He put a hand on Alan’s shoulder anyway and squeezed gently.

His little brother growled at him. “I’m fine. It was time to get up anyway.”

“It’s before noon, Alan.”

“Shut up, Gordon.”

“Hey, I just have your teenage need for sleep at heart.”

“Shut up, Gordon.”

“That’s enough, you two.”

“He started it!”

“Alan.”

“Scccottttt…” It was pure whine and a strong sign that Gordon was probably right. Alan needed more sleep.

“You going to grab some warm milk?”

“Heck, no. That was John’s idea. I was just going to plug in some tunes, but he demanded I come down here. What are you guys doing anyway? Dad?”

Scott shot John with his eyes. This was worth a discussion later.

The smart ass just shrugged and smiled that smile of his.

“Dad?” Alan left Scott and hurried over to the table. “You okay?”

Scott spun to find their father reaching for his cane. Alan was there in a second and handed it to him. His little brother had an arm wrapped around his father and whether his help was wanted or not, he gave it.

“Are you okay, Alan?”

Alan rolled his eyes. “I’m fine, Dad. Johnny is just making a big thing out of nothing.”

As usual, the ‘Johnny’ moniker riled the astronaut. “You were calling Virgil’s name.”

The room froze.

Alan shot daggers at John from under his father’s arm. “Thanks a bunch.”

John tilted his head. “Well, you were.” He held up his hands. “Just trying to help.” But his eyes flickered to Scott.

He glared back. Yeah, right.

John’s small smirk just wound Scott up further.

But he would kill his middle brother later, right now, Alan was the concern. “You want to talk about it?”

“Nooo.”

“Is this about Virgil’s tattoo?” His father’s voice was quiet and a little sad.

“I’m fine, Dad. I’m eighteen. Not a kid anymore.” It wasn’t a ‘no’.

“Age has nothing to do with dreams, son. I have nightmares all the time. Even some about you.”

Alan shrunk back just a little. “Me?”

Their father nodded and Scott’s heart finished its plummet somewhere amongst the flagstones.

“About all of you. Sometimes you’re calling out to me and I can’t answer. Sometimes you’re hurting and I can’t help. Sometimes all of you are just gone.” He looked up at Scott. “In more ways than one. That I’ve lost you. That my one misstep cost us everything. Even now I find it hard to believe that all of you are here safe and sound.” His voice hitched on that last word and Scott knew the truth. Knew that they weren’t as sound as they could be.

“We’re here, Dad. All of us.” Alan was looking up at his father in that same way that eleven-year-old had looked up at Scott all those years ago. Eighteen years or not, his little brother still had faith.

“I know.” He tilted his head and caught Alan up in his arms, burying his face in his youngest’s hair. “It doesn’t stop the dreams, though, kiddo. I’m still scared.”

Scott swallowed hard.

“I’m sorry, Dad.” It was muffled against their father’s shirt.

“Not your fault. I just wanted you to realise that we all have bad dreams from time to time.”

“Heh, I know. Gordon walks and talks in his sleep.”

“Hey! I’m over that!”

Alan poked his head up. “Newsflash, bro. Virg had to lead you back to bed three nights ago. Found you by the pool at two am talking to your ‘coach’.”

“Aw, shit.”

“Language, son.”

Gordon ignored his father. “Why didn’t Virgil tell me?”

Scott was more concerned as to why Virgil hadn’t told him.

“Dunno. You’ll have to ask him.”

Gordon muttered to himself about locks and tying himself to the bed.

Dad looked at Scott. “How long has this been a problem?”

Yet another sigh. “Long term, Dad. Left over from the Olympics. Flares when he’s worried. Hasn’t happened for a while. We have strategies.”

“Are there any other issues I don’t know about?” It was asked of the room at large, but Scott knew it was aimed at him. He pressed his lips together.

“Plenty, but they are all managed and safe.” The familiar baritone echoed down the stairwell and Virgil, trailing Grandma, was the last brother to join them.

His dark eyes ranged over the family gathering, obviously making an assessment and drawing conclusions. “Did I miss a meeting?”

His brother’s arm was strapped up but he was otherwise shirtless. It was obviously a statement because Virgil never went shirtless…ever.

He looked tired and worn.

“Virg, what are you doing up?”

It was Grandma who answered. “He needed his medication and I thought he could do with something in his belly before he goes back to bed.” She stepped past her grandson and headed towards the kitchen.

A quick glance at Gordon and the aquanaut was moving. “Hey, Grandma, let me help you with that…” He followed her into the kitchen proper obviously vetoing any villa-burning-down attempts in the making.

Virgil took the last few steps onto the flagstones and eyeing all of them, made his way towards Scott, suspicion on his face. “Did you sleep at all last night?”

“Some.”

“Obviously not enough.”

He turned to their father. “Dad, you’re up a little early, too. Anything I can help you with?”

It was a blatant barb. It was obvious Virgil thought he was the topic of discussion and Scott didn’t blame him.

“Just finding my feet again, son.”

Virgil nodded once before turning to Alan who was still holding onto their Dad. “You okay, Allie?”

“He had a bad dream, Virg.” It was shouted from the kitchen.

“Gordon, I’m gonna kick your ass!”

“You and what army, squirt?”

“Gordon!” It was choral – Scott, Virgil, John, Dad and Grandma.

“That army, idiot!”

“Alan!” Same chorus, younger name.

“He started it.”

“He always starts it and you always fall for it.” Scott glared at his little brother. He really was too tired for this. “It’s early. Get yourself some food or drink and back to bed. I’m going for my run.” The early morning pre-dawn glow was now bright enough to see by and not kill himself. God, he needed some time alone.

The expression on his father’s face clearly showed the man wanted to talk further. “Dad, give it time, please?”

His father blinked, but didn’t say anything.

“Trust me.”

He straightened. “I trust you, Scott.”

“Thank you.”

Scott turned to Virgil. “And you, wear your uniform next time. Don’t think I didn’t notice, Thunderbird Two.” He threw a glare at his second for emphasis.

That brought his brother up short. “FAB.”

“And fix whatever caused the accident so it doesn’t happen again.”

“Uh.” Virgil appeared suddenly panicked.

“Virg? What did cause you to fall?”

His brother’s face fell and he slumped with a wince. “A bat startled me.”

“What?”

“Did I just hear that correctly?” Gordon was far too gleeful in the kitchen. “Did you get scared by a bat?!”

“Shut up, Gordon.” It was the chorus again.

The aquanaut might have said something more, but a small explosion on the stove had him yelping and hurrying to wipe milk off the walls.

“It was a bat, okay? It startled me, I stepped back and fell. Can we ignore that now, please?”

“I’ll speak to Brains about finding a bat deterrent to keep them off the ‘birds.” Scott was firm.

Virgil turned to him and there was nothing but gratitude in his eyes.

“And if I hear anyone bugging Virgil about this, they will be cleaning all six of Two’s modules with a toothbrush. Is that clear?”

There was a muttering of assent among his brothers.

Gordon had milk in his hair.

Scott turned to John. “You and I will be having words, Thunderbird Five.”

“What did I do?” The astronaut was innocence itself.

“Strong words, Thunderbird Five.” He glared even more for emphasis.

John shrugged. “FAB.”

Alan. His littlest brother was still holding their father and didn’t appear to be separating from him any time soon. “Allie, you want to talk. Any of us will listen, you know that. Dad included.”

The young astronaut looked at his feet. “I know, Scott. Thank you.”

“We all have bad times. We get through them together.” His eyes drifted up to his father. “We do this together.”

Those strong arms held Alan even tighter and his father gave him a single nod.

Scott took a step back and stared at his family, wishing briefly that Kayo was home and Penny, Parker and Brains were there as well, even if just to complete the picture.

“Grandma, I love you. Gordon, don’t burn the kitchen down.”

And with that, he turned towards the pool, ran out on the deck and into the beginnings of the day.

-o-o-o-

FIN.


End file.
